This felt different from exhaustion, from pain… pain especially. I've trial-ed and error-ed too many times not to expect a stab in the gut, a slice in the neck, or anything really that'll make me wish for nothing else but the sweet release of death.
But this… truly… this was not… I wasn't giving, expending… now's the opposite… I was taking, receiving… like gulping down gallons of… something. Was this normal? Was she feeling what I was feeling? This was the problem with that calm constant on her face - it barely gives anything away.
"Still hanging on?" I heard Mom say, her voice resounding aloud before her lips even move to speak. "Or are you only pretending that you still can?"
She knows. Of course, she knows. Pain like this, sensations like these... how did I expect to ever be able to hide all this as well as she could?
"I can keep... going," I felt myself say, but didn't hear. "Let me keep going."
Next chapter will basically end this whole mess and act as the prologue to the epilogue to this long, long arc.